


Life Continues Whether we Like it or Not

by doodleswiththoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodleswiththoughts/pseuds/doodleswiththoughts
Summary: Steve dwells in his own mind and wishes for death.
Kudos: 1





	Life Continues Whether we Like it or Not

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this about a year ago, and I was going to turn it into something with a plot, but it's just not happening, so I thought I'd go ahead and share it. Writing it helped me with some of my nastier thoughts.

It wasn't just one thing that did it. If it had just been the fall or just been losing Buck or just the aliens it would've been easy. But it was everything. Everything that happened after the serum. It was being paraded out against his will. It was the fighting and the killing. It was losing Buck, it was losing Peggy. It was his suicide attempt. It was every mission from ‘42 to ‘17. All the memories, all the blood on his hands, all the friends lost, that had him gripping the porcelain sink so hard he thought it might crack. He couldn't catch his breath no matter how many gasping mouthfuls of air he tried to suck in. It was like going into the ice or hitting the concrete after jumping out of a plane without a parachute, but it didn’t stop. He thumped his fist hard against the sink. Goddamnit. He was better than this, stronger than this. Why couldn't he pull it together. If he was being honest it wasn't even just the combat and the loss. It was in his upbringing too. The way people on the street looked at him, eyes full of pity, or disgust. The beatings he'd taken just trying to do the right thing. But he was too small and sickly then. Now he was so big and strong and yet more fragile than ever. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to breathe like his therapist had taught him.

This time it had been a stack of plates banging a little too loudly on the counter top in the kitchen. His hearing had gone to white ringing for a full three seconds. He could feel his heart pick up and he wanted to run. His therapist told him it was a panic attack, that he had PTSD. Steve wasn't so sure. It never seemed to get to him in combat situations, just quiet rainy Sundays when everything should have been peaceful. He sat on the toilet and put his head in his hands, trying to count his breaths. Gradually his heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out. He felt tired, like he'd just run a marathon. His body ached and his eyes drooped as he slumped back against the tank of the toilet. He gave himself another few minutes of even breathing before heading back out to make his excuses to the rest of the avengers.

“Sorry guys I'm gonna have to call it a night, I think my breakfast burrito is disagreeing with me.”  
Sam gave him a concerned look, but didn't question the lie, “Alright man, try to feel better, I'm sure Tony's got some Pepto if you need it.”

“Pepto? Please I've got the good stuff, prescription grade, settle your stomach right out if you need.” Tony bragged. He was always bragging, always using his possessions and his wealth to cover up for his multitude of perceived faults. Steve only knew that because he did the same thing. In his own way.  
Steve waved them off, “Nah I'm alright I'm just gonna go to bed I think. Night all.” He waved a hand as he beat a hasty retreat, carefully avoiding Natasha's frown.

He woke up in a cold sweat that night. He'd dreamt of Bucky and Peggy. Bucky had been falling out of the train, but this time Steve jumped after him. Peggy was screaming but he couldn't make out the words. She sounded so scared, more scared than he'd ever heard her in life. He landed on his back in the belly of project Insight, Bucky towering over him, cocking his metal fist back to land another blow, and then they were both falling. His back hit the icy waters of the Potomac and it jarred him back to wakefulness, Peggy's screams still ringing in his ears.

“Jarvis?” his voice came out as a hoarse croak and he winced.  
“Yes Captain?” The metallic response was unnerving in it's immediacy.  
“What time is it?”  
“4:37 am Sir.”  
“Thank you.”  
“You're welcome.”

On a normal day he'd be getting up in an hour anyway. He swung his feet out of bed but made no moves beyond that. He put his head in his hands. The gesture was so familiar now. He felt like a statue, frozen in this position till God knew when. He did finally push himself up to begin his morning routine. Running clothes and shoes, a water bottle and his i-whatever and he was out the door and down the familiar path of his morning run. New York City may have been the city that never truly slept but most of it was sleeping now. It was so early, and a Tuesday. There weren't even the usual party goers returning from late night revelry. Steve focused on moving his limbs, the way his shoes connected with the pavement. It was soothing. He'd be loathe to admit to anyone but sometimes he ran until he thought he might pass out. Granted for his enhanced body that meant a good ten miles non stop, but it could be accomplished, and on bad days was. Sam would call that “self destructive behavior” but would in the end concede that it was better than diving head first out of a plane without a parachute. He'd never get over that story.

The familiar beat of his feet on the pavement couldn't still his restless mind however and he found himself lingering on the dream. They still hadn't found Bucky, which meant that Bucky wasn't ready to be found. It was hard to know that Bucky was alive in this world and hiding from him. They had been so close once... His mind drifted back to lazy days baking in the Brooklyn tenement they shared. Bucky used to strip to his boxers and sprawl across the couch with his head poking out the window. He liked to smoke but tried to do it away from Steve and his asthma. Course that was back in the days of asthma cigarettes, so Steve smoked too. They actually did a fair bit of good, but it was nothing like a modern inhaler. He'd fallen down a long and twisting rabbit hole and found that cures and treatments existed for just about everything that had been wrong with him in the forties. Not the flat feet, but certainly the asthma and the scoliosis. He had fantasized about the life that he and Bucky might've had if they had been born in say 1998 instead of 1918.

He stopped halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge to look across the water at the Statue of Liberty and wondered, not for the first time, if all the fighting he'd done on behalf of a better world had been worth it. He barreled headfirst into World War II thinking that the whole world would be alright if they could just beat the Nazi's. Sock old Adolph on the jaw. But after the Nazi's came the communists who may or may not have been bad, depending on which text book you read. And then the so-called terrorists. He thought bitterly that the United States had done more to terrorize the middle east than the middle east had ever done to the United States. He leaned on the railing and looked down into the water. Another familiar thought crossed his mind.

Jump.

He shook his head. Even if he did jump he'd probably just wake up in a hospital somewhere. Battered and bruised but regretfully alive. It happened when he put the Valkyrie into the ice, it happened when he'd fallen into the Potomac back in D.C. He looked up at the sky, squinting at the now risen sun. Someone up there was determined that he live. Better heed the Lord's word, he thought bitterly, pushing the thought down into the very depths of his being.

He felt tired again. Beaten down. He supposed that it was just the lack of sleep. A nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounded an awful lot like his therapist piped up reminding him about PTSD, Insomnia, Depression and Panic Attacks. It was easier to just chalk it up to a bad night's sleep though, so he kept running. As if somehow he would be able to use his super strength to out run his problems. Unfortunately they kept pace in his brain. When the ache of his legs and solid connection of his shoes on pavement wasn't enough to distract him anymore he turned back towards Manhattan and Avenger's Tower.

After showering he headed to the common kitchen where he found Sam chowing down on some waffles.  
“That smells great, got any leftovers?”  
Sam rolled his eyes, “Like leftovers would be enough to satisfy that super hunger,” He gestured with his fork to the waffle iron, “I do not, in fact have any leftovers but I can whip up another batch if you like,”  
Steve waved him off, “Don't trouble yourself, I can do it myself.”  
“Recipes on the counter.”  
“I've got my ma's famous waffle recipe right up here,” he tapped his head, “Thanks though.”  
Steve busied himself with the process of waffle making.  
“So, Steve,” Uh-oh. Sam was using his Concerned Friend Voice. “Can I ask you a personal question?”  
Steve didn't turn around, couldn't face the worry he knew was etched in Sam's face. “Shoot.”  
“What happened last night?”  
“Just a bad burrito, nothing to be alarmed about,” He tried to sound casual but it came out tense and defensive.  
“You're a terrible liar Steve.”  
Steve put his hands on the counter, pressing his shoulders up around his ears. He looked down at the half finished waffle batter. “The dishes falling.”  
“Yea you bolted out of here like your pants were on fire.”  
Steve took a deep breath. “It set off a panic attack. I just had to get through it.”  
“Ah geez man,” Steve could hear the frown in his voice. “I'm sorry you felt like you had to go through that alone. You know I'm always here to help if you need me right?”  
Steve finally looked back at Sam. He was so earnest, so good. This wasn't the first time Sam had made this offer, but Steve could never bring himself to take him up on it. It didn't seem right to dump all of his problems on Sam. After all Sam was still dealing with his own PTSD. When he'd first confronted Steve about it they'd had a long talk about Sam's service record and Riley. Especially Riley. So much of what Sam has said that day had felt achingly familiar to Steve. No matter how many times Sam offered his help both personally and professionally Steve could never accept it. Even when he could tell it was making Sam angry. It wasn't happening now, but there were times in the past, after he'd done something reckless on a mission that Sam had well and truly laid into him. In those moments Steve knew he was talking to him, but he was also talking to Riley.  
He dropped his shoulders, feeling the tension he'd been holding there ebb away. “Thanks Sam.” He turned back to his waffles, pouring the batter into the hot iron. The hiss of batter cooking was familiar and comforting.  
“Of course.” The frown was still hanging in his voice, “That explains a lot though, you looked like you'd been hit by a bus when you came back.”  
“Did anyone else...” he trailed off, not knowing how to ask if anyone had noticed that it wasn't a bad burrito without coming off like he wanted to hide.  
“Just Natasha,” Sam said around a mouthful of waffles. “If you want it to be a secret it's safe with us. But I think it might do you some good to talk to everyone about it. You know we've all been there. A lot of us are still there.” He said, ruefully.  
He slumped into the chair next to Sam, “I know, I know I just. Don't want to burden—”  
“Imma stop you right there Steve. You're not a burden. If one of us came to you and said 'Steve, I haven't slept in weeks because I'm having nightmares and I'm not sure if I want to live anymore' would you tell us we're a burden?”  
“Of course not,”  
“Same goes for you buddy, Sam put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And if I ever hear you call yourself a burden again I'm gonna kick your ass.”  
Steve laughed at that. The smile felt out of place on his face and he realized he'd been gritting his teeth through his sleep and his morning run. The waffle iron beeped, pulling him out of his own head. As Steve stacked waffle after waffle onto his plate the conversation turned to Avenger's business and Sam's job at Veterans Affairs. It was a nice change of pace from Steve's depressing internal monologue.

“How are things at the VA anyway?”  
“Oh you know, same old same old. That promotion they promised me ages ago still hasn't come through. But honestly I really just enjoy helping people, I don’t need the pay raise anymore, I’ve got that sweet sweet world saving money.” He wiggled his eyebrows.  
Steve laughed, “I suppose not. Do you prefer group therapy or individual, when you do counseling? I would think that one on one would be easier. Or. Not easier but more...”  
“They both have their ups and downs, but it’s really rewarding to watch people start to feel better, knowing that I helped a little.”  
“It sounds like it,” Steve smiled at Sam and noticed not for the first time how pleasant it was to sit and watch him talk. He had a very animated face when he got into storytelling, and the look of pride in his eyes as he talked about the progress the Vet's in his group were making was really something. If he really thought about it Steve knew he had a crush on him. More than a little one. But he'd decided a long time ago that he wouldn't be pursuing any relationship with anyone until he got himself a little more... sorted. If he was interested in that however, Sam would have been his first choice. He was endlessly kind and supportive, but he also knew exactly when to kick Steve in the ass. He was the master of tough love, and it was all delivered wrapped up in sass and that beautiful smile of his. He wondered what it would be like. To date Sam. They had talked before about sexuality and the like so Steve knew he was bisexual, which at least gave him a chance. And if Natasha's goading was anything to go by then maybe it was more than just a chance. He supposed that dating Sam would be, for the most part like this. Having breakfast together and sharing stories. Except when Steve got up to make more waffles he'd kiss Sam on the cheek as he did.

His romantic musings were interrupted by Natasha who had come in as quiet as a cat. “Morning fellas.”  
“Morning,”  
“Morning Nat, sleep late today?” Sam teased, smirking. Oh. Steve knew that look. He'd have to talk to him about that later. For now he just raised his eyebrows and smiled knowingly. Sam rolled his eyes at him.  
“I think I'm entitled, we do save the world on a regular basis.” She stretched. If Steve was going to be honest with himself, which of course he wasn't. He'd also thought about Natasha as a partner as well. She was beautiful, of course. And so smart and quick. There was something mysterious and enticing about her. She seemed to know everything. He wondered, not for the first time what dating her would be like. Probably mostly sex, if he knew her at all, which he liked to think he did. Of course maybe he only knew what she wanted him to know. But again, dating was out of the question. No matter what Sam said he wasn't going to burden a potential partner with his issues until he had a better idea of how to handle them on his own.

The stillness and comfort of the morning was interrupted by Jarvis. “There is a call coming in from Nick Fury at Shield.”  
Tony came jogging into the room. “We've got a problem. Jarvis put Fury on hold and bring up the news.”  
“--man dressed in what appears to be a hockey mask with a white X painted across his chest. The stand off has been in progress for almost thirty minutes--”  
“Rumlow.” Steve's voice came out flat.  
“He goes by Crossbones now,” The holographic form of Nick Fury appeared to the left of the television that had until moments ago been an ordinary window.  
“Jarvis!” Tony Squawked, “I thought I said to keep him on hold.”  
“You did sir, but regretfully he knows the bypass code.” Jarvis sounded nothing short of amused.  
The hologram of Nick Fury crossed his arms. “It wasn't very smart of you to make it Pepper's birthday. Now about Rumlow. He's been holding Jasper Sitwell hostage at the Shield holding facility downtown. He's insisting that he speak to you.” He pointed at Steve.  
“Okay first off, why was he just down town? Don't you all have an even more secret holding space for literal Nazi's?” Tony broke in.  
“He was only going to be held there for an hour at most before being transferred to exactly that. Now if you could stop pointing fingers and--”  
“Okay but what does he want with Steve?”  
“If you would stop interrupting I could tell you.” Fury paused, waiting to see if he would be interrupted again. Tony made an exaggerated 'you have the floor' gesture and Fury nodded. “He blames Steve for the fall of Hydra and wants to, I don't know, duke it out.”  
“And what gives him the impression that Jasper Sitwell is worth enough to us to parade Steve out for the slaughter?” Nat spoke up.  
Fury sighed, “Because, unfortunately he is. He was Pierce's right hand, and he has information in his head that wasn't stored on the databases you dumped onto the internet. As such he is much more valuable to us alive. It helps that he's an absolute coward and has already offered up the information in exchange for his life.”  
Steve nodded. “Where is he?”  
“Lower east side, I'll send you the coordinates.” The hologram disappeared.


End file.
